When the human boy who’d first called out to her asked her name, Crier said, “Ayla.”

The name was melted sugar on her tongue. Then bitter metal.

“Well met, Ayla,” he said. “I’m Hook.”

She’d just nodded. The less she spoke, the less chance there was of revealing herself as an Automa. Hook didn’t seem to care if she was talkative or not. He was a nice-looking human boy with a wide, toothy smile. He couldn’t have been older than twenty, and Crier wondered how someone so young had become the leader of a group like this. Then, surreptitiously glancing around at the seven other humans, Crier realized Hook was the oldest. The others looked around Crier’s age or even younger. And she’d just watched these humans kill two monsters and set the bodies aflame without a moment of hesitation.

What happened to you all? she thought. What drove you to this life?

But perhaps she already knew the answer.

Now, sitting in a circle with them around a low-burning campfire, forcing down bites of hardtack and salted fish, Crier kept her eyes down. The fire was little more than smoldering embers—Hook had explained that the monsters were drawn to light—but she was still paranoid about her eyes refracting gold. Exposing her in a heartbeat, in a blink. It was more difficult than she might have expected to keep up the act, and she’d only been doing it for an evening. But there was so much to remember: breathe evenly, blink regularly, don’t hold too still, don’t move too smoothly, keep your eyes down, for skies’ sake don’t speak like the daughter of the sovereign. She was immeasurably grateful for the grime on her face, obscuring her Made skin.

“So, Ayla,” said Hook, once they’d all eaten their fill. “What brings you to these parts? Fool move riding alone through Shade territory like this, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean, ‘Shade territory’?”

Hook’s eyes widened, and suddenly all the rebels were looking at Crier. Their expressions ranged from startled to curious to . . . wary. “I thought word had spread just about everywhere,” said Hook. “The whole south is dangerous right now, my friend, from the western mountains to the eastern shores. It’s especially bad here, so close to the southern estates. You really haven’t heard anything?”

“Been alone for weeks now,” Crier mumbled.

“Well, all right. Here’s what you should know: those black-eyed things, we call ’em Shades. They used to be Automae. But they’re even deadlier than your average leech—they’re stronger, faster. They don’t feel pain, as far as we can tell, or if they do it doesn’t stop them. They’re violent. Bloodthirsty. And they’re near impossible to kill unless you know exactly how to do it. Get too close and you’re dead meat. Welcome to hell.”

One of the other humans raised her waterskin. “Hurrah!”

“Why do you call them Shades?” Crier asked.

“They got like that by taking some sort of fake heartstone, or poisoned heartstone, maybe. It’s called Nightshade. Nobody knows exactly what it is, only that it turns leeches into monsters.”